


Right Hand or Left Hand?

by InsomniaParty



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beating, Blood, Bruises, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniaParty/pseuds/InsomniaParty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John fucks up and spits it out instead of swallowing. Bro asks him which fist he wants to be beat with.</p>
<p>Very violent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Hand or Left Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse my absence. I have returned with a couple of pieces. This is one of the shorter ones.
> 
> Mind the warnings. Lots of violence.
> 
> As always, if you have any requests, anonymous or not, feel free to send them to my tumblr, InsomniaParty.

 "Right hand or left hand?" he asks as he stands above him.

 He knows this game.

 John is sitting on the floor, his head hung, and his lip trembling. Next to his leg, on the floor, was a small puddle of cum. The boy had spit it out. He fucked up.

 The black haired boy sobs and whispers his answer, "Left... h-hand."

 Bro had both his hands up, balled into fists. He drops his right hand and looks at his left.

 "This will be the fist I beat you with," Bro informs.

 After a second, John hesitantly nods his head. He sniffles and wipes his tears away with his arm.

 The older Strider takes a fistful of John's black hair and harshly pulls him up, the boy's head twists back. He frowns and clenches his eyes shut, bracing himself for the hit.

 Bro holds back his left fist as if charging and then he throws it forward at John's face. It knocks his head in the other dicrection. His body goes limp for a couple of seconds.

 "I'm sorry. Please n-" John manages to plead out before Bro smacks his across the face. His cheek stings and burns. The black haired boy begins to squirm, trying to pry the older man's grip on his hair. He is given another smack.

 Bro drops him and looms over the boy's body. John shrinks on himself and meets the blond's gaze. Blue eyes begging for mercy or any sign of kindness and forgiveness.

 John's cheek is met with another slap from Bro's left hand. When he covers his face with his arms, Bro sends a punch to his ribs. The boy cries out in agony, but no words come out. It is best not to provoke the blond any further.

 The older Strider takes John's head by the hair again and forces it to meet the floor. The boy's cheek hits it with a wet crack. Bro rubs John's face in the puddle of cum.

 "How many times do I have to tell you?" the man spits out. He's irritated. "Hm?"

 The blond places his foot on top of John's head and twists it. Cum smears all over his cheek. He lifts his foot and stands back as he watches the sobbing boy.

 John slowly pushes himself off the floor, but makes no attempts to wipe the cum off his face. He sits up and doesn't make eye contact with the man watching him.

 Bro takes note of everything. John's trembling shoulders. His slouching back. His head hung in defeat. His tears sliding down his face. Something is missing.

 The Strider takes a step forward causing John to flinch. The man bends down to be at eyelevel with the terrified boy. He gently brushes strands of hair out of thr boy's face and strokes his hair. Blue eyes slowly meet orange eyes hidded behind shades. Bro smirks and cruelly smacks the boy across the face. John's body is sent in the other direction of the blow. He's panting and remaining as still as possible, waiting for the man's next move.

 Bro pulls him forward by the hair and sends his fist crashing into John's swollen lower lip. The blow splits it open. The boy whimpers in pain as he spits out blood.

 The older Strider watches as blood trickles down John's pale skin. It drips down his chin. It runs down his neck, past the hickies. It continues down his into his shirt.

 John cautiously watches Bro stand back up again. The older man takes a hold of the back of John's shirt and carelessly pulls him up. He drags him to the bathroom and lunges the boy into the sink. John catches himself.

 "Clean yourself up," Bro coldly orders. He walks out of sight into the living room.

 The battered boy's body trembles as it struggles to keep standing. He uses the sink as his support, holds onto it as if it were to leave him soon. He was scared of the day he would lose the privilege to use the sacred sink. It was the only means John had of washing away all the filth Bro constantly subjected him to. Of course, the boy knew that this kind of filth could never be scrubbed clean. It would stick with him forever.

 Even if John somehow did manage to clean himself completely, body and soul, Bro would find a way to destory him again.

 The blue eyed boy turned on the faucet and rinsed his arms off first. He watched as blood, semen, sweat, and tears spiraled down the sink. John inspected his arms. They were clean.

 Arms. Funny things. To think that someone can do so many things with their arms and hands and fingers. To think that John's arms would never be strong enough to defend himself against Bro. To think that people like Bro turned arms into a violent game.

 Right hand or left hand?

 It was a game he could never win.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you have any requests, anonymous or not, feel free to send them to my tumblr, InsomniaParty.


End file.
